Key and Lock
by sherlockian vegetarian
Summary: When you turn five, you choose either a lock or key. John choose a navy blue key.


To the Lock and the Key

Johns POV

When I was five I picked a key. There was two choices at first: a lock or a key. If you picked key you were given five keys to choose from; if you picked lock there were five locks for you to choose from. As I said I chose a key, it was dark blue, my mother had it engraved when I was ten so I wouldn't lose it. I didn't know what my key meant or why I had it, but I wore it around my neck on a chain every day.

When I was thirteen I began to hear the gossip. Whispers in corners about what the keys and locks meant. Most guys had keys and girls locks but there was the occasional guy who had picked a lock and an occasional girl who had a key. The whispers said that the person whose key matched your lock or vice versa was your soul-mate.

When I was fifteen I went on my first date. We went to the movies, ate dinner, and laughed. I didn't show her my key to see if it matched her lock, I didn't love her. It had been said that after only a few hours into the first date you would know whether or not they were for you. I didn't see her or speak to her again, and I was okay with that.

When I was nineteen I decided to become a doctor. The most plausible option for me was the military. I would be in for a few years, do my required service, and leave to find my lock.

When I was twenty-four I was shot, right in the shoulder. It was so hot; I could barely feel anything after the sharp searing pain of the bullet ripping through my shoulder. I could hear people around me yelling," you're gonna make it buddy." The only thing I could think of way my soul-mate with their stupid lock waiting for me. That was before I was invalidated home.

When I was twenty-five I spent a year living with my parents doing physical therapy. I left for London around my half birthday in search for a job and a meaning to my life. I couldn't just sit at home and do nothing, my soul-mate wouldn't stand for it.

When I was twenty-five and a half I met Mike again. Mike and I had been in medical school together. He asked me how Afghanistan was, I responded that I got shot. He told me about a bloke who needed a flat mate, his name was Sherlock Holmes. I moved in with Sherlock that year, at 221B Baker Street.

When I was twenty-six I had all but given up on finding my lock, some people never do. I still didn't know whether Sherlock had a key or a lock, I sensed it was a sensitive subject and left it alone. Sherlock didn't seem particularly worried about finding his soul mate, I didn't comment on that either.

When I was twenty-seven Sherlock asked me out. I don't know why I said yes, but I did. Sherlock took me to the theater and told me the life stories of all the audience members. On the way home we stopped a murderer, and called Lestrade to wrap up the details. We had much more important things to do. It had been said that after only a few hours into the first date you would know whether or not they were for you. I had made me decision to show Sherlock my key, I just hoped he was the right lock.

When I was twenty-eight Sherlock and I got married. I just wanted a small affair, but Sherlock's mummy insisted on a grand affair. We both wore tuxes and vowed our lives to each other. We honeymooned in Hawaii, it only took a week before Sherlock got so bored I worried he might murder someone.

When I was sixty Sherlock and I stopped taking cases where we had to run around London. We stayed in the flat and solved even the most boring of cases.

When I was seventy-two Sherlock and I moved to the country. Sherlock took up bee keeping, and I knitting. We lived a peaceful live, albeit a boring one, so I surprised Sherlock with a puppy for him to play with and amuse, granted he didn't perform any experiments on it.

When I was eighty-eight Mycroft and Harry both passed away, Clara had died some years earlier. I knew that even though Sherlock didn't show it he was hurting deeply inside, so was I. That year I came down with pneumonia and was bed ridden, Sherlock sat by me every day and read to me or just kept me company.

When I was ninety-three I passed away in the night. It was peaceful, my funeral was a simple affair. Just a few of my friends were left.

When Sherlock was ninety-four he passed away. He was place in a coffin next to mine. He had planned it this way. Lots of people came to mourn the consulting detective. I doubt he knew most of them.

When I was beyond life on earth I was young again. Sherlock joined me here. There wasn't any crime in the land beyond, but Sherlock wasn't bored anymore. The bond of soul-mates is eternal, forever, and lasts all lives.

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**Hey hope you guys liked it. If you wait for a few days I will update Sherlocks POV. Follow me on Tumblr: sherlockian-vegetarian. **

**-SSH **


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